


9 Signs You Might Be A Psychotic Serial Killer

by Bellamy Blake (dirtytrix)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, HALF CANON, Half AU, Murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtytrix/pseuds/Bellamy%20Blake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Bellamy Blake and how he discovers that he might just be a psychotic serial killer. </p><p>(Think experts mid S1 onwards except Bellamy has a Dexter style MO. Aka he kills the shit out of people to protect his bbs)</p>
            </blockquote>





	9 Signs You Might Be A Psychotic Serial Killer

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born of a random gif and a conversation with my wonderful RP partner. This story is for fun, it's not taking itself too seriously and most importantly there will be blood.
> 
> (Also yes I'm aware. Tragic first chapter. It's 11:40PM in England and I'm not that good of a writer. WTF do you want from me. LOVE YOU)

He almost found it insulting how easy it had been to sneak out of camp. The walls aren't finished and with everyone either on edge, confused or generally not speaking to each other after the day they'd all had he just had to wait in the shadows a while. Until everyone had stopped worrying about their fried wristbands and had settled in for the night. Nobody even thought to watch the hole in the wall that he exited through because really, who would be stupid enough to leave camp at night with the Grounders potentially watching?

Other than him, obviously.  

It wasn't that Bellamy was stupid, well he could be but that's a whole other thing, he just had a job to do. Sure he was pissed at Murphy, the guilt over Charlotte stung like a fresh sucker punch to his gut but this decision, surprisingly, wasn't emotional. It was hard and calculated. When he'd tried to pummel Murphy to death it had just been a knee jerk reaction to losing one of their own. He knew the moment they pulled him off that he couldn't do it in front of an audience. He had to seem... Honourable? Merciful? He had to seem like a leader. Not a scared boy trying to please a crowd but an actual honest-to-fuck leader. So he’d stormed off, fury still pounding through his veins but, and this is important, he'd let Murphy go. 

Even though, hours later in the middle of the dark woods, he would realise life could have been so much easier if he’d just done it then. 

He couldn't say exactly when he came to a decision about what had to be done. There hadn't been some switch in his head that had suddenly been thrown, or a button that had been pushed that changed everything. Knowing what he had to do just felt like a fact, a solid, sturdy truth, as unavoidable as a wall. 

He had to kill John Murphy. 

It was obvious really, glaringly. It half surprised him that he was the only one who saw it. It wasn't vengeance or anger or anything else but good ol’ fashioned common sense. Murphy was crazy and power hungry. He was stupid enough that he'd try to hurt them for revenge, or worse, the grounders would hurt him. As a prisoner or an outsider he was a threat. Bellamy couldn't stand for another threat, not when his camp and his people were already a less than a day away from breaking point. He had to protect them even when they didn’t want to face the ugly truth of just what had to be done.  

This wasn't like Jaha where someone handed him the gun and told him where to shoot. He'd done that for his sister, to protect her and secure her safety. And, honestly, with how pissed off people on the Ark were most of the time, it was pretty much an inevitability anyway.

No this would be different. This wasn't thrown into his hands with a big red bow. This was a hunt. This was him skulking through the woods, silently, looking for a bloody and bruised fuck named Murphy. This was Bellamy not resting until the job was done. 

Luckily fortune favours the brave, or the quick acting at least, and he hadn't gotten far from where they’d left him. Sure the cliff edge was empty now, the blood on the floor barely noticeable with no trace that someone had thrown themselves over the edge hours ago, but even in the dark there's a trail to follow. Broken bushes and a long, muddy track in the floor where he's half dragging an appendage. That should help slow him down at least. 

When he eventually hears Murphy stumbling in the woods ahead of him Bellamy can’t work out when he got turned around after 15 minutes tracking in the dark, but suddenly Murphy is now coming towards him instead of the other way around. Murphy must have backtracked, he was pretty terrible at the hunt part of hunting anyway so really it’s half Bellamy's fault for assuming he would be any better at finding his destination when he has no where to go. He doesn’t think fast enough to come up with anything more clever than stepping off of the path he was on and hiding behind a tree as best he can, the fact that it’s so dark helps. 

He can hear his own half panicked breathing as he waits. Is he panicked from almost walking right into him or is he anticipating his next move? He’s distracted and he can’t work himself out, all he know is he’s breathing too loud and he needs to calm the fuck down. He forces himself to take some deep lung full’s of air and then, finally, Murphy stumbles into sight. He looks like shit, more so than he had when they left him because now his face has swollen considerably from the pummelling Bellamy dished out. He’s proud of it but still it feels like it takes a lifetime for the wounded animal that is John  Murphy to hobble closer. There’s a moment where he could change direction and come right towards Bellamy's vantage point but he doesn’t. As he walks away Bellamy lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding at nearly being discovered before he was ready. But he wasn't and it's ok because now his back is turned. 

He makes short work of the steps it takes to reach Murphy, retracing the path he’d just taken, avoiding the branches that might snap under his feet and give away his presence. And when he reaches him he wraps a strong arm around his neck from behind, his other arm holding his forearm tightly across Murphy's throat. He panics instantly, thrashing and squirming in an attempt to escape the hold Bellamy has but it’s too fucking late and Bellamy actually smiles.  

It's short lived. Moments later Bellamy shouts, “Fuck” as Murphy uses whatever strength he has left to jam his knife half into his thigh. Pain floods his senses and he feels his grip loosen just enough. Murphy falls to the floor and moves to get away from him in the same instant. And the shouting. Yells that echo through the trees for help or screams in Bellamy's face demanding to know what he's doing. 

He would have thought _that_ was obvious. He wants to roll his eyes and sigh over what a big drama queen Murphy is being about this but he doesn’t have time for that because as slowly as he’s moving Murphy is actually kind of getting away. 

“Nobody is coming to help **_you_** ”, are the last words Murphy will ever hear and they’re practically spat at him. 

Bellamy dispenses of the safe, clean option he was hoping for and he reaches for his throwing axe. Except he doesn’t throw it, he lunges it deeply into Murphy’s leg as he takes the two steps it requires to get to him again. He’s still trying to shuffle away but Bellamy wastes no time in yanking the cold metal out with a squelching pop and slides in behind Murphy. He slips his arm around his head now, muffling his pointless screams, and turns to face his whole body down as he slides his axe across his throat in one, clean movement. It’s almost practised it’s so precise. The unwavering slice as his arm glides through the air and he feels skin beneath his weapon burst open like the floodgates on a dam. Blood gushes outwards in unstoppable arcs as he drops the body to the floor. He already considers it a body despite the last moments of life Murphy is clinging to, the final scrambled attempt to move for that minute or two. Too weak to actually get anywhere it’s more hands trying to reach for some resistance in the mud below him and pull himself away. Away from what Bellamy isn’t sure, he’s already dead and the faster Murphy accepts that the easier it will be. It's almost with bemused understanding that he watches the struggle fade into nothing, a few last twitches and then silence. 

Bellamy knows he should probably feel something right now. Logically he knows he should be racked with guilty, maybe even sad. He doesn’t even feel pleasure, he just… He’s thinking about the clean up. The blood will be fine, the forest floor and animals will take care of that. They’re far enough out that it shouldn’t be discovered by anyone in the meantime. The body he’ll throw over the cliff, almost a fitting ending for his day to throw Murphy where they've already lost someone else today. 

_Shit._ The throbbing pain from his own leg distracts him and he stupidly pulls the knife out of his skin as if that'll help. It hadn’t gone deep, luckily, he’d probably cut off Murphy’s air supply enough by then that he wasn’t able to cause serious damage but he is bleeding. He blames that fucking spacewalker for giving Murphy a knife in the first place. The material he grabs from his pack and wraps round his leg tightly doesn’t get soaked with his blood as quickly as he thought it might, which is a relief, and with pressure on the wound his leg is becoming a hum of pain rather than a throb. That’s when he realises he’s spent longer wrapping his leg than he actually spent ending a life. Which would probably be weird except his leg still hurts whereas Murphy will never hurt anyone again. 

He makes sure to pick up the offending knife again because he really doesn’t need that coming back to bite him in the ass, and he wipes his blood off onto the back of Murphy’s shirt. He packs the mostly clean weapon into his pack and his axe also gets wiped off and stowed away again. 

Finally Bellamy looks over at the pool of blood that, shining in the moonlight, surrounds what was once Murphy. He flips him over and sees the flow of blood has ebbed in the time he took to take care of things. It's not completely stopped but it's enough that the small trail he'll leave behind as he drags the body back to the cliff won’t last very long. He’s not sentimental as he looks at Murphy’s lifeless eyes that will never blink again, or his cold skin that looks paler, probably on account of the blood loss. He’s just tired. He’s thinking about the 15 minute hike he has to make, dragging this with him, followed by the hike back to camp, and how much he’d just rather go to sleep. He misses sleep, he feels like he hasn’t slept properly since they landed. But maybe tonight he’ll be lucky. 

It’s with a sigh that he gives up and picks up Murphy’s ankles, gripping one with each hand and starts trudging his way back. He stops only twice when he thinks he hears something, neither time is anything more than the noise of the woods at night. When he finally gets there he doesn’t spare a moment for reflection, or even to close Murphy's eyes, he just rolls him with the heel of his boot, over the edge of the cliff. Murphy spirals as he falls, his arms spread a little and then he’s gone. Darkness takes him and  just like that Bellamy’s problem, the camps problem, is solved. 

And it was so… simple. 

Don't get him wrong, it was messy and, as he feels his leg to see how it’s holding up, he knows it could have gone better. That’s something he can work on, but his problem was relatively simple to fix. Just like that. 

He can go back to camp now with a half smile on his face despite their losses and he enjoy the momentary peace that will come with his actions. He can say goodnight to Octavia knowing that there’s one less thing he has to protect her from. 

Bellamy finally feels something he hasn’t felt all day, after he hasn't felt anything all night. He’s happy. 


End file.
